


Damn Angels

by Castiel_Left_His_Mark_On_Me



Series: Destiel Feels [5]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Angst, Destiel - Freeform, First Dates, Kissing, Loss of Grace, M/M, Misunderstandings, Original Character(s), Post-Canon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-12-07
Updated: 2014-12-07
Packaged: 2018-02-28 13:15:24
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,591
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2733950
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Castiel_Left_His_Mark_On_Me/pseuds/Castiel_Left_His_Mark_On_Me
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It is harmless. All he's doing is getting to know someone new. Dean does it all the time after all ... and he does much more than have drinks with his new friends.</p><p>No, Castiel shouldn't feel guilty about having drinks with the man he met at the gas station. Why on earth is Dean trying to make this out to be such a bad thing?</p>
            </blockquote>





	Damn Angels

     “Okay, explain this to me _one_ more time.”

     Castiel looks at Dean, trying to understand what is so confusing about ‘ _getting drinks with a new acquaintance’._

     “Do you even know this guy, Cas? You can’t just go _hang out_ with people you don’t know.” Dean leans heavy against the doorway to the bathroom— twitching his fingers as he waits. Castiel tilts his head, trying to understand why the man seems so upset. His shoulders are squared and pushed forward, like he’s bracing for a hit. His arms are pressed tightly across his chest, making him seem pointed and sharp—untouchable.

     “I don’t _know_ him —I’m assuming that the conversation surrounding the drinks will alleviate that concern; and why can’t I get to know new people, Dean? You meet new people regularly. In fact, you get to know them far more _intimately_ than just their  preference in beverages” Castiel says, matter-of-factly while focusing harder at the mirror. He quickly looks down to the sink, reaching  for his toothbrush to finish preparing for his night. Oral maintenance isn't something he _needs_ to perform, but he finds he can still taste certain things, and somewhat enjoys the strong, mint flavor of toothpaste.

     Dean begins shifting in his shoes, looking from the floor to the man in front of him, a pink hue dancing around the freckles on his neck. “That’s different. I know what I’m doing.”

     Castiel lowers the barely used toothbrush from his mouth, taking a moment to spit before cocking his head and eyeing the Winchester angrily. “I suppose, I _don’t_ know what I’m doing then? Do you really think I’m that helpless, Dean?”

     “No! No, man … I’m just saying, when I meet new people, I’m _trying_ to meet new people. This guy just sauntered up to you at a gas station and asked you to go out for drinks! That doesn’t strike you as suspicious?”

     “Should it?”

     Dean gawks at him; _apparently it should._

     “Yeah, man! Doin’ what we do, it’s never a coincidence when someone pops into our lives! It usually ends up being a demon, or a shape shifter or some other nasty thing that’s really trying to kill us! It just doesn’t feel right!”

    Cas can see this is really upsetting the man. He feels a little guilty for still wanting to go out; but he’s been stuck in this bunker for days. With Hannah gone and no leads on Claire, and his fading grace always in the back of his mind—he just needs to escape for a while. That’s _why_ he was at that gas station in the first place.

     “Well, I doubt this man is a demon. I would have been able to sense that. Same if he were a shape shifter. You may not be able to see their reflective eyes as a human, but an angel’s grace shines quite brightly off of their irises.”

     “ … could be a witch.”

     “He’s not a witch, Dean.”

     Dean huffs a little and turns in place,  as if he's about to finally give up on the matter, only to turn around once more and throw up an accusing hand. “If this guy ends up kidnapping your feathery ass and makes Sam and me have to come save you, I’m going to be really pissed!”

     “Well, if he does kidnap my _feathered ass_ , Dean, I’ll make sure to rescue myself as to not be a bother.”

     Castiel watches as Dean’s mouth gapes, his grassy eyes darting back and forth before looking him up and down—finally pressing his lips together until they’re pale and thin. “You know what, fine! Don’t say I didn’t warn you when this all goes to hell!” And with that, the frustrated man stomps out of the bathroom and down the hall. Castiel flinches as Dean’s door slams, shaking the mirror in front of him. The angel looks back to the empty doorway, wondering why he’s suddenly missing the man there—missing Dean even though he is all too annoyed at his childish behavior. The angel finally relinquishes the thought and continues brushing his teeth. He will talk to him about the matter once he returns. After all, he has consumed liquids many times. Most of those times were with Dean. Why should it make a difference if he’s consuming them with someone _new_ sitting across the table?

***

            Dean gets to work cleaning his fifth gun. He had just cleaned them two days ago after their last hunt, but he needed something to do … and if this whole thing with Cas does go sideways, he wants to make sure all his weapons are working properly. He tries to comprehend how the guy could be such a dumbass. He spent time as a human; he _knows_ how dangerous it can be out there. Yeah, sure—he has some mojo _now_ , but they all know he isn’t as strong as he used to be. Dean rubs furiously at the metal— he desperately wants to know who this random guy is and what he wants with _his_ angel. He searches through his mental log of monsters and all around scary dicks—trying to think _which_ ones hunt like this. Which ones seek out men, in broad daylight in public places … and invites them for _drinks_? It’s not really a pattern he’s familiar with. Then again, there always seems to be something new just when he thinks he’s seen it all. Though, he can’t imagine what supernatural thing would be stupid enough to hunt an angel, except for other angels; but Cas would have known if this was one of his kind.

            “Fuck … this is _stupid_ ” Dean mutters to himself, pulling off the barrel to his 22 and wiping it clean.The sound of soft, calculated footsteps increase and then dissipate down the hall, making his ears perk up. _Cas is leaving._ Dean pushes back his chair, standing while setting down the dismantled weapon. For a moment, he thinks about trying to talk to him again, but considering their conversation in the bathroom, it won’t do any good. The feathery bastard is too stubborn.  _Maybe he should tail him_. The idea seems appealing. Keeping an eye out for his old friend. That isn’t really wrong, is it? If everything turns out to be fine, Dean can speed back home and act like he never left. If things _don’t_  turn out fine—well, then he’ll be ready to pull Cas out of the fire yelling “I told you so” the entire way. That’s it … he’s following him. Better safe than sorry.

            Dean starts reassembling his guns when a quick knock falls on his door. Before he can respond, Sam is poking his head through.

            “Did Cas just leave for his man-date?” Sam asks with a crooked smile.

            “It’s not a date, it’s a fucking trap that the idiot is falling right into. I’d feel better if it were a date” Dean growls, turning his attention back to the 22 in his hand.

            “You sure about that?” Sam lets out a hissing laugh.

            Dean leers back at his brother, wondering why he’s dealing with even _more_ pointless confrontation. “What the hell is that supposed to mean?”

            “Oh, I don’t know, man. I heard you talking to the guy earlier … you really think this is a trap?”

            “What else could it be?”

            “A date.”

            “It’s not a fucking date!” Dean feels his face turning red, pissing him off even more. This is totally going a different direction than he’d thought. His brother is supposed to be on _his_ side! He's a hunter too, he should know the signs when something smells funky.

            “Okay, okay. Whatever man. But _uh_ —I’ve been wracking my brain and I can’t think of _one_ creature that would be stupid enough to go after Cas.”

            “Well, we ain’t seen everything, Sammy.”

            “Yeah but we’ve seen _a lot_. Things can still be innocent sometimes, Dean.”

            The older Winchester finishes with his gun, loading a few rounds before he tucks it into the waistband of his jeans.

            “What are you doing?” Sam asks, his face turning from haughty to suddenly concerned.

            “What do you think? I’m following him.”

            Sam’s face twists into a whole new level of _bitch_. “You can’t be serious? Dean, leave the guy alone! He can take care of himself, and there’s absolutely no sign of anything suspicious going on.”

            Dean grabs his coat, quickly shoving his arms inside. He collects his knife and car keys, cramming them into his pocket before pushing by Sam. Sam lets out an annoyed huff, swiftly following his brother down the hall.

            “Dean! Stop! _Really?_ Oh my god, you’re acting like a dumbass!”

            Dean ignores him, reaching the staircase and pounding up the steps— speedily bounding through the door, leaving his tall, aggravated little brother in his wake.

***

            Paul seems to be a gentle soul. His voice is soft. It's airy, nothing like Dean's. The man has dark brown eyes and long wavy hair—not as long as Sam’s but quite a bit longer than the older Winchester. Castiel isn’t sure if he likes the length. It seems like it would have a lot of up-keep. Maintaining one’s self image was of great annoyance to him when he was human. He always wondered how they all tolerated it: the showers, the combing, the cutting … it was tedious.

            “So, Castiel—I never asked, does your name mean something? It’s very pretty” Paul leans in with his question, close enough that Cas can count the few freckles that are strewn about his face. They look a little too dark—maybe cancerous. The man should have that checked.

            “It means …” he stops and wonders if he should go into the detailed explanation, or if that would not make for very good conversation. He decides to go down the lighter road. “It is the name of the angel of Thursday. You could say my father was a religious man.”

            “Well, I like it. It’s really interesting … and pretty,” Paul repeats leaning in a little further still. Cas begins to feel slightly imposed upon with the proximity. _Maybe this is how he made Dean feel long ago_ —although, the man doesn’t seem to mind it now. Dean never asks him to step away anymore.

            “Thank you, Paul. Does _your_ name mean anything.” _It is only polite to reciprocate question_ s.

            The man let out a hard laugh, “If it does, I have no idea what. It is a pretty boring name.”

            “Paul is a fine name. You should be proud to have it.”

            The man’s eyes seem to grow darker with Cas’s words. The angel looks at him, tilting his head a little, trying to decipher what he's thinking.

            “I’m really glad you agreed to come out with me tonight" Pauls says with a chuckle "I have to say, I was pretty nervous when I came up to ask you.” A slight flush coats the man’s cheeks before he glances back down to his drink and stirs the ice around with his straw.

            “Really? _Why_? It is only drinks.”

            The flush fades a little.

            “Yes, well … still, I can never be sure, ya know, if a guy is _interested_ or not.”

            Cas is more confused by that statement than the previous one. _Interested in consuming liquid?_ He is an angel, so of course _he_ isn’t interested in hydration but, Paul certainly doesn’t know of his true form. He assumes Castiel is just a human—a human who needs liquid to survive. Of course, if he were … he’d be interested in that.

            “Well, I am interested” is all Cas can think to say.

            Paul dances another menacing look in Cas’s direction. Something begins to lurch in the depths of his gut, in the places where he  feels his foreign grace churn and fight with his natural order. _Maybe Dean was right._ There is something he can’t quite place about the man. He can sense there is another intention here—something beyond just drinking beers and getting to know facts about one another. What if this man is up to no good? He is sure he would be able to fight him. He has his angel blade, a quick slice under the table and Paul’s intestines would be coating the floor. Yes, it would be quite simple to temper the threat. The uneasy part would be confessing he was wrong to Dean. He hates having to admit he's wrong—not just because Dean usually doesn’t let him live it down, but because there always seems to be a sadness in those soft, green eyes when Cas says the words. He hates when Dean looks sad. There is absolutely _nothing_ worse.

***

            The window of the bar is dirty, making a clear view of the men difficult. Dean sits in the Impala, watching—waiting for something to happen. He _knows_ something is going to happen. The guy is sitting too close to Cas. He is looking too hard at him. The dick is planning something, he can feel it! He watches them for a better part of an hour, filling the time by trying to figure out _why_ it makes him happy when Cas isn't smiling. More so, why it really pisses him off when the angel _does_ smile. The guy currently looking at his blue eyed friend leans in closer, and for a moment, it seems like he touches Cas’s hand. Cas smiles. _He smiled and looked down at his beer—he fucking smiled!_ Dean punches the steering wheel, replaying the sight in his head. How is Cas being so stupid? He’s totally falling for this guy’s act! Dean watches the angel’s mouth move. He wonders what he's saying. Cas seems to be talking a lot. He doesn’t remember the last time he's heard Cas say more than a couple of sentences at a time. He mostly listens. He listens to Sam rant about his research. He listens to the angels complain about _God knows what_. He listens to _him_ whenever Dean needs him to. He always just ... _listens_. 

            The night stretches on. One beer turns into two, turns into four. Thank God the guy's an angel—Dean doesn’t have to worry about him getting drunk off a few brews. If this other dude jumps him or tries anything, Cas should be lucid enough to fight back quickly, especially if Dean can’t get in there in time; but, _of course he’ll get there in time_. Dean slouches down, growing tired of watching the other man squirm in his seat. The guy reminds him of Chuck a little bit, only a _douche_. His hair seems too long and he has a beard. He's thin and wiry—an easy kill no matter how you look at it. No matter what monster he turns out to be, Dean thinks he’ll have no problem taking him down. Another hour passes and Dean feels his eyes begin to sag. He’s exhausted, he didn’t get much sleep at all last night. Not after Cas came home and said he met someone and was going have drinks with them. This stupid, random asshole is just messing everything up for him! Trying to mess with his angel, screwing up his sleeping schedule ... yeah, he’ll have fun ganking this son of a bitch.

            Tthe hair on his neck suddenly rises when he sees Cas stand. The other guy mirrors him, stumbling a little in the process. _He seems drunk_ —a sloppy move for any monster on the prowl. Then again, it could be a ploy—a way to make Cas concerned for him and ultimately _vulnerable_. The two men walk towards the front door and Dean slumps down in his seat, praying he stopped far enough away that the shadows of the parking lot hide the familiar shape of the Impala. Cas and the other man step out onto the landing of the bar, silhouetted slightly by the dim overhead lamp. Dean pushes himself back up, leaning forward, straining to see what’s happening. Cas’s overcoat is about the only thing really beaming through the haze. The other man is just an outline, a dark, unnerving shape that makes Dean grit his teeth.

            He watches and waits. “What’s taking them so long? _Leave,_ Cas! Turn around and get in your _damn_ car!”

            Cas doesn’t heed his silent warning. He stays there, apparently talking with the other man about something—something holding his interest steady. The angel is rigid, standing straight and awkward like he always does, looking slightly uncomfortable in his own shoes. He’s rigid until he isn’t. Dean feels his muscles snap as he watches the angel lean back, the shadowy man in front of him, pushing into Cas’s body. Dean is out of the car before he can think, running towards the steps at a full sprint—gun in hand, already cocked.

            “Hey!” he booms, reaching out for the collar of the guy’s shirt, ripping him away from the front of the angel. “ _Hey!_ ” he screams again as the man grabs for the folds of Cas’s coat.

            “Dean!” Cas yells, and for a second, it sounds like he’s _angry_.

            “What the _hell_ do you think you’re doing?” Dean growls, pulling the guy down the steps and throwing him to the ground, quickly aiming the gun between a set of dark, brown eyes.

            “Please! Don’t shoot! _Please_ , I got money! Take it!” The man quickly fishes his wallet from his back pocket, making Dean flinch until he sees the leather bill fold.

            “Dean, put the gun away!” Cas is beside him, shoving down his arm, staring icy blue fury into his soul. Dean resists, not really sure what Cas is thinking by trying to stop him. He glances between the angel and the guy on the ground, his veins still thrumming with adrenaline.

            “What was he doing? I saw him come at you! Did he bite you?” Dean spits, casting quick darting looks about the angel's face and neck— _it doesn’t look like he has bite marks._

            “What? No ... of course he didn’t bite me. Dean, you are very confused … he …” Castiel cut off his thought, looking down at the ground. He isn’t sure, but in this light, it almost seems like the angel is blushing.

            “He what?”

            “He _kissed_ me, Dean.”

            Dean’s eyes shoot wide. He looks at Cas and then back at the man at the end of his gun. The small, shivering creature looks pathetic … scared … _human_. Dean lowers the barrel the rest of the way, feeling his face soften. _Shit._

            “Oh” he mutters, still trying to comprehend what his friend really means. _He kissed Cas? Why would he kiss Cas? The guy’s an angel! Of course, this dude doesn’t knows he’s an angel. But still … why would he kiss him? He can’t like him like that, can he? Does Cas understand what this guy was doing? He can't. No, can he? And Cas can't like him … like that, right? Did he kiss him back? He did sound angry when I stopped it. No, he can’t fucking like this douche … he’s human, and I thought Cas liked chicks. He was with April, and then there was Meg. Besides, look at this guy! He looks like a fucking douche! Chick or not ... who kisses someone they just met? Well ... a dude they just met. I mean, he had to know that Cas wasn’t coming onto him. This guy must have fucking forced himself on him. Who does that? Fucking douches, that’s who!_ Dean doesn’t realize he raised his gun again, not until he feels Cas pulling his arm away once more.

            “Dean ...” The angel’s blue eyes begin to look more concerned than angry. Dean feels a thick wash of guilt cover his skin, he has put that look on his friend’s face _so_ many times.

            “Dean … is this, is this _the mark_?” Cas’s worry intensifies.

            “What? _No!_ I thought the guy was … was attacking you!” Dean finally pushes the hammer on his weapon back into place and returns it to the band of his jeans. The man on the ground nearly collapses as it disappears.

            “Well, like I said, he was only kissing me.”

            “ _Only kissing you?_ ” Dean barks out a sarcastic laugh. “Yeah, well … that’s almost worse! What kind of guy just goes around kissing people he barely knows?”

            “I have seen _you_ do that numerous times, Dean” Cas steps back with the acknowledgment, tensing his arms and eyeing the angry Winchester with all his energy.

            “Yeah, well … _I’m_ not a douche!”

            Cas rolls his eyes as he looks down at the other man on the ground, flinching a little, like he’s surprised to still see him there. In a moment, he is helping him up.

            “Paul, I am so sorry. My friend here … he was confused. He thought you were a threat to me.”

            Paul looks at Cas in a wide eyed daze, as if he can’t understand English anymore. “ _Me?_ ”

            “Yes. I’m sorry; he has been _on edge_ lately." Cas snakes a quick glance at Dean's arm "I hope you can forgive his outburst.” The angel puts a heavy hand on the shaking man’s shoulder, trying his best to calm him down.

            “ _Forgive him_? He pulled a damn gun on me! I should be calling the cops!” Paul screeches, thrusting out and angry finger in Dean’s direction.

            “Please don’t, it really was just a large misunder—” Cas stops, reaching out and grabbing the guy’s hand, staring at it intensely once it's in his grasp. “You’re _bleeding_. I will go back inside and get you some towels. Perhaps the owner of the establishment has first aid kit.”

            Before Paul or Dean can blink, Cas is rushing back inside, his coat fluttering behind him. Paul stares mournfully at the closing bar door before turning back towards Dean. He cradles his bloody hand with the other and takes a few small, uneasy steps backwards until he's flush with a parked car.

            “Look, man. _Sorry_. I didn’t know …” Dean begins, feeling a little bad for scaring the piss out of the guy—just _a little_.

            “You’re Dean, right?”

            Dean gawks slightly at the question. He wasn’t expecting _that_ from the guy’s mouth. A cry, a royal cussing out, petrified staring— the usual things, but not _that._ He nods, a little hesitant at where this is going.

            “Dude, you _seriously_ need to chill out! I get that it might be hard for you to see him date other guys but you can’t just pull guns on people!” Paul’s words end in an owl-like screech and Dean can’t quite figure out what the man is getting at. He must look confused because Paul continues talking. “I don’t know what happened between you two … I mean, my guess is you’re pretty overbearing, but—he obviously still cares about you, so you don’t need to fly off the handle! I don’t think anyone is really going to be a threat to _you_ …”

             Dean scrunches up his face, squinting at the little man who seems to be standing straighter now, not quite as scared as he hides in Dean’s shadow. “ _What_?”

            “He spoke about you the _entire_ _time_ , okay? Practically everything I asked him turned into a story about _you_ —what food you like, your favorite music, how much you care about your car. _Jesus_ , I felt like I was on a date with _you_ more than I was with him!”

            Dean leans forward a little, crossing his arms and squinting his eyes at Paul. “ _Date_?”

            “What?” Paul looks confused by Dean’s confusion. “Whatever man—basically, the guy is still in love with you and obviously, _you’re_ still in love with him if you’re willing to _fucking shoot_ someone just because they planted a kiss on his cheek!”

            Dean’s face goes hot—he backs away slightly, not really sure what to say, _what to think_. He really isn’t sure of _anything_. He feels like he’s back in a Dijjn dream—nothing really makes sense, even though something about it feels really … _really_ good. Cas bursts back through the door of the bar, drawing Dean’s attention away from Paul’s words still hanging heavy in the air.

            “The bartender didn’t have much, but he did have some clean towels and rubbing alcohol." The angel's blue eyes look focused and cold. "Give me your hand” Cas instructs, reaching out to Paul.

            Paul shakily gives his hand to the angel, letting Cas go to work. Dean wonders why he doesn’t just heal the guy on the spot, but then he assumes—that would just be _too much_ shock for Paul to handle right now. The man hisses as the stinging liquid pours over his cuts and Dean feels another tinge of guilt—slightly more genuine than the last.

            “Here, keep this towel wrapped around it until you can acquire some real bandages.” Cas works a tight knot into the fabric around Paul’s hand, taking care to keep his eyes steady on the man's face as he works. Dean watches meagerly, feeling something pull at his ribs as the angel’s fingers hold tightly to someone else's.

            “Do you need me to take you home?” Cas asks, looking very concerned for the guy. Dean resists rolling his eyes. _Jesus, it’s just some minor cuts._

            Paul shakes his head frantically. “No, I—I’m good. I’m just gonna go now.” He pulls his hand away, looking warily from Dean to Cas and back again. “I won’t call the cops either, okay? I just want to go.”

            Dean nods at him, and Cas follows suit, offering a weak smile to the man as he retreats to his car. After another moment, Paul is whizzing away, screeching his tires around the corner and flaring his engine onto the main road.

            Dean watches the taillights curve and disappear, only to feel two new orbs vying for his attention.

            “ _Dean_?”

            Dean turns to look at the angel, who appears to be about twenty shades of _pissed_. He can’t help but flashback to that alley way—where Cas beat him bloody for wanting to say yes to Michael. A slight shudder runs up his spine with the memory. Cas is fierce when he’s like this. He’s so strong. Dean feels a little silly now for thinking that the angel might not be able to protect himself. _He_ may be an awesome hunter and a pretty tough guy, but he has never felt as weak as he did in that alley way.

            “You followed me here? And you pulled a _weapon?_ He was just a human, Dean. I could have smited him in a second if he were at all dangerous, but he was just a _human_.” Cas pushes into Dean’s space, staring daggers into him.

            “I—I didn’t know  …”

            “You _did_ know. I told you, but you just didn’t trust me." Cas's voice is low and deliberate.

           But underneath the ominous hiss, Dean detects a slight hurt in the angel’s tone. “Cas, man … I’m sorry. I just thought—”

            “No, you didn’t think at all.Typical Winchester ... shooting first and asking questions later." Cas backs away a step, staring up to the sky like he'd find some clarity there. " _Really_ , I don’t know what fuels these hysterics. I understand when there is an imminent threat, but I could hardly call a kiss on the cheek _life threatening ..._ ”

            The words brought his attention down, down to Cas’s lips—his cheek. He thought about Paul, leaning in and now … as he pictures it more, that _is_ all it looked like. It looked like a kiss, but somehow, that doesn’t make Dean feel relieved. It doesn’t make him feel any better. Somehow, he still feels like he had every right to pull his gun.

            “ _Dean?_ Do you no longer care about your own actions?” Cas leers, turning to Dean once more, giving him that look that only children receive.

            “Did you really talk about me the whole night?” The question bubbles up from the pit of his stomach. He couldn’t help it … ever since Paul said that Cas didn’t shut up about him, he’s been fighting the urge to smile.

            “What? I hardly see what that has to do with anything right now, Dean.”

            “So ... you _did?_ ”

            The angel cocks his head like he always does when he’s confused, the frustration slowly slipping from his eyes. Dean can’t help but drift with the look.

            “I suppose your name _did_ come up quite often … but, why would Paul tell you _that_ of all things? I was assuming he’d want to refrain from talking to you after how you treated him.”

            “He wanted to let me know …”

            “Know what?” Cas asks, stepping forward a little more, obviously curious about where this line of conversation is going.

            “He said … _some things_.” Dean rubs the back of his neck, suddenly feeling very stupid for bringing this up. He should have just apologized to Cas and high tailed it out of there.

            “What _things_?” Cas grunts, sounding more annoyed with every breath.

            ” … I don't know. “

            “ _Dean ...”_

            Dean flinches beneath Cas’s rumbling voice _. "_ He said you cared about me and stuff ...”

            Cas leans back a moment, blinking blankly at him. “Well, of course I care about you. You're my friend, Dean. Both you and Sam are like my family.”

            Dean feels his heart drop and he isn’t quite sure why. Cas has said they were like family before. Hell, _he_ has said it himself about a hundred times; but that isn’t quite what he was hoping Cas would say. He isn’t sure _what_ he hoped he would say, but he knows it wasn’t that.

            “Yeah, I know that.”

            “Then why did you say it like you _didn’t know_?”

 _Cas and his stupid, probing questions_.

            “I don’t know man, Paul just made it sound like something different.”

            “How did he make my caring for you sound _different_?” Cas takes another step forward, standing impossibly close to Dean … he can smell the faint scent of oranges coming from his lips.

_This guy and his fruity beers._

            “He made it sound like _more_ , okay?” Dean starts to feel cornered. He is rutting back to survival mode. Panicking against the unknown feeling like he should either shoot or run.

            “ _More_? More how?”

            “Just _more!_ ”

            “I don’t understand what that means, Dean and repetition it isn’t clarifying anything.”

            Dean turns his head away, trying to avoid those damn blue eyes drilling into him, trying to pull him inside out.

            “Dean ... please look at me and explain what this is all about?”

            Dean complies. He looks at him, he looks at his hair sticking up a little from the fuss that occurred earlier. He looks at his eyebrows, pushing together causing his skin to gather between them. He looks at his cheeks, smooth and tight over the sharp bones in his face. He looks at his nose, nostrils flaring, making him seem agitated—he _is_ agitated, and Dean can’t help but find it endearing. He looks down to his lips, his chin, the stubble on his jaw … and then to his lips once more. They were okay— _untouched_ , even by Paul’s own admission, he didn’t touch Cas’s lips.

            “Dean?” Cas inches in more.

            _Damn angels, never knowing about personal space.  
_

            “Dean? Are you alright?” The last few centimeters between them are covered, covered by Cas’s incessant need to coat things with his gaze, to observe something down to its fucking atoms. He’s close. _He’s too close._

            Dean pulls him in. _“You’re still in love with him”_ Paul’s words ring back in his head. _Still_. The word doesn’t seem to fit there, but it couldn’t possibly fit anywhere else. _Still in love with him._ He has hooked up with countless women in the past six years,and nothing stuck. He cared for Lisa … but, it wasn’t like _this_. This was ... is _still_ here, this hasn't left him, whatever the hell _this_ is. He feels Cas’s hands glide onto his hips. Dean stops a moment, only _just_ realizing what he’s doing. Cas pushes into him further, pleading Dean’s lips with his own, begging them to move again. Dean slits his eyes open, not even aware that he'd closed them. Cas’s face is just a blur— _his_ eyes are shut tight, his head, tilted a little. Dean panics and blinds himself once more.

            “Dean …” his name slides from Cas’s tongue directly onto his own. The angel’s voice is low, but consuming, it seems to echo throughout his body like the dull hum of a constant wind. He has heard him say his name like this before—only once, but he’s heard it. It was the only thing that brought him back. It was the only thing that snapped him awake, pieced his soul back together from the shards and splinters left in the heat. It was the only thing that made him put down the blade in hell and remember who he was … who he _is_. Cas’s voice saying his name, that was the only thing that saved him.

            Dean thrusts his hand to the back of the angel’s neck, pulling Cas into his lips. Their teeth clash and tongues press and slide against one another. They fall back against a random car, rocking it on its hinges before settling into each others’ grasp. Dean melts into the man, the angel in his arms. He feels safe and whole, protected and strong—everything, he just feels _everything._

            Cas pulls away for a moment breathing heavy, his lips, flushed and pink. “Dean? Is this what you meant by _more_?”

            _Damn angels and their probing questions …_

**Author's Note:**

> Find me on Tumblr: castiel-left-his-mark-on-me


End file.
